


The Lion and Lioness

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dreams [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Cullen Smut, Cullenlingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Passion, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-10 00:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: While bathing together and washing his hair, the Inquisitor tells Cullen every little thing she likes about him. He returns the favor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr prompt I did that warrants another part.

“You purr when you’re pleased sometimes you know,” Lydia whispered as she continued to massage her fingertips into his scalp.

“Do I?”

“Oh yes. It’s quite, quite…endearing.”

“Is it?” he asked, sighing and leaning against her. He loved it when she washed his hair, or when they bathed together as they were then. Hidden away in her room, safely tucked away against her. It was bliss. Perfect. More perfect than anything.

“Oh yes,” she murmured into the crook of his neck. “My lion.”

He considered the name for a moment. “I’m not sure how I feel about that,” he confessed eventually, as her arms snaked around him. “You know lions are in Orlesian heraldry.”

“Yes. But you do have that lion helm.”

“And we never speak of it,” he said, her hands pressing into his chest. He felt his cock twitch as she left a small kiss on his shoulder. He was overcome with frissons, further arousing him. Anymore of this, he wasn’t sure if he would want to remain in the bath.

“You know Rylen…gave it to me in jest,” he said, trying to get back on the topic at hand. “If anything, Michel de Chevin should be called the lion.”

“He is actually. I heard your soldiers call him that during training today. The lion of Orlais.” She whispered then, lowly. “You’re called the lion of Ferelden.”

“Oh Maker.”

“Shhhhh.”

He bit back his moan as she poured the pitcher of water over his head, running her fingers through his drenched hair to get all the soap out. He moaned.

“There. You did it again,” she said, laughing. “My lion.”

He sighed. “You really like calling me that, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Well,” he said, feeling her hand slide closer to his cock. He slide further back into her, keenly to answer the motion. “I wonder. What else do you like?”

“Your hair,” she said, running her fingers through it. “I love how curly it is.”

“Like a lion’s mane?”

“Hmmm, maybe,” she teased. “But that’s not all.”

Her fingertips barely ghosted over his cock. Just that little motion made his breathing hitch. “Mm. What else Lydia, love?” he breathed.

Nails lightly raked down his back. “This,” she said. “Your back. How strong it is. The scars.”

She slid her hand down his arm next. Took his hand, and wove their fingers together. “I love your hands,” she said. “They’re rough. Shown you have lived. I love them when they’re all over my body. Digging into my skin. So demanding, sometimes. I love it.”

“Lydia…”

Her small, delicate hand grasped him. “So big,” she muttered. “Cullen.”

“Do you…like it?”

“Quite.”

She rubbed her thumb against the tip. “I love you buried inside me,” she said. “I love it when we’re face to face, and you kiss me. I love it when I’m on top, and you’re flushed and rosy.” She pumped down his cock, agonizingly slow. He moaned for her, encouraging her. More.

“I love it when you take me behind, and you slam into me. I love it when you fuck me against the desk in your office, especially after I’ve come home.”

Another stroke against him, her fingers light against his balls. “Cullen,” she whispered, into his ear. “I love the fact that you’re strong. And you overcame. I love that you’re mine.”

Her hand twisted around his cock, strokes and pumps becoming faster and more desperate as he melted against her. He closed his eyes and felt every little sensation. The lukewarm bathwater, her breath in his ear as she jerked his cock. Her breasts against his back. Most of all, he felt the gradual build, the pressure and the feel of her hand. He was boiling, tipping over…

“Cullen.”

He came with a strangled gasp, spilling into the bathwater as Lydia still continued to stroke, drawing the last of his orgasm. He was panting and spinning, and as he tried to come back to earth, Lydia leaned into him, pressing her lips to his in an intoxicating kiss.

“I love the sounds and purrs you make as you come,” she said. “My lion.”

“I love it when you call me that.”

She grinned. “I don’t have to. If you don’t like it. Really.”

“Keep it our secret.”

She kissed him again, tenderly and slow. “You know what I love?” he asked, voice laced thickly with lust.”

“What?”

He smirked. “I love your taste.”

“Then take me out of here, and taste me.”

He licked his lips as he thought of how he was going to show her every other thing he loved about her. "Lydia,” he commanded. “On the bed.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Cullen.”

He chuckled, laying by her side. “So demanding,” he teased.

“I want your mouth,” she whined, hand reaching for his hair in an attempt to push him down.

“Patience…” he mumbled, his hand cupping her cheek as he leaned in and drew a small kiss. “Soon.”

“My lion.”

“I may regret telling you it was all right to call me that.”

“Touch me, and I may stop.”

He further laughed, laying her down on her back. “I have so many things I want to do to you,” he muttered, leaning into her, pressing his bearded face along her skin. He inhaled her scent, the smell of the rose scented bathwater mingling with the musk from her growing arousal, and the scent that was something distinctly Lydia. “I want to taste you,” he breathed into her skin. “I want to bury myself inside you…”

“Cullen…”

“I want to taste every part of you.”

She threw her leg over his back in an attempt to push his body further atop hers. “Minx,” he called her, then changing his mind, realizing “lioness,” may be a more appropriate thing to call her.

“Your lioness,” she said with a smile.

“Yes,” he said, his hand skimming down, lightly squeezing the slight plumpness of her stomach.

She frowned. “Culllen. You’re making fun of me.”

“Never,” he breathed. “I love this. I love every part of you.”

She turned rosy. He leaned down again, lightly nipping the soft skin of her neck. Her breath caught, and his fingers drifted down past the coarse hair.

“What…else…do you love?” Lydia asked, as his hand traveled to her inner thighs.

“Your smile. The way you laugh,” he said, lightly thumbing her clit. She arched. “The way you say my name.”

He left a path of kisses down her cheek as he further pressed against her clit. “I love it when you wrap your legs around me when we make love.” His fingers were wet, coated in her arousal. “I love it when you push me down, and I taste you.”

“Cullen…please.”

He rubbed small circles against her. “I love it when throw me on the bed and ride me.”

“I’m…”

“I love the sound you make when you come.”

As if on cue, right then and there with his fingers on her clit and his lips against her neck, she came, wetness continuing to pool from her center. “Oh love,” she moaned, cupping his face in her hands and bringing him in for a kiss. She always did that, kiss him after he gave her an end. A kiss of thanks, a kiss to bring her back to life from “the little death,” as the Orlesians called it. He loved it every time.

She gripped his arse, trying to guide him to her. “Not yet,” he said, chuckling. “There’s something else.”

Her initial need satiated for now, he began his indulgence, which included tracing every line and curve of her body with his hands, lips, and tongue. The dips and curve of her waist and hips, the slight plumpness of her stomach, and the shapes of her legs. He ignored the obvious parts of her to give her other parts love and adoration. He said often that her body was a temple, though she often denied it, but either way, it was his place of worship, his prayer, his religion.

Blasphemous, he knew. He didn’t give a damn.

He kissed the long scar under her breast before his digits caressed her rosy nipples, circling them before he took them in his mouth. “Cullen…” she asked, as he continued his ministrations. “Do you…do you like my…?”

“Maker yes.”

“Even if they’re small? Do you ever look at other women’s chests and—”

“Hush Lydia, love,” he muttered, taking the both of them in his palms, squeezing them. “They’re perfect.”

“You aren’t lying?”

“No.”

She glowed, and he left a trail of kisses down her stomach, before settling between her legs. His cock, already hard from touching her was against the mattress, and was twitching with the thought of her taste as the balls of her feet dug into his back. “Stop teasing,” she ordered, as his mouth pressed hotly and wetly to her inner thighs. He was compelled to obey, running his tongue over her slit, pressing his finger inside before encircling her clit.

She moaned like a wildcat, like a lioness. He rutted against the mattress as she wailed and moaned, and he hoped there were people in the garden that heard her cry out his name. Dirty, nasty thought, he knew. He simply didn’t care as his finger touched _right there_ in tandem with his encircling mouth over her clit, her cum continuing to pool out as she came for him.

As soon as she recovered, his kiss bringing her back, his hands grasped sweat sheened skin, as he moved to his knees. He considered turning her over briefly before settling on this, wanting to see her eyes as he thrust inside. She was impatient, taking his cock in her hand and guiding him inside.

“Cullen,” she breathed, “You feel so good.”

“Maker…” he panted, staring at their connection, before his gaze floated back to her eyes. “Maker, you’re beautiful.”

They made love this way, her legs wrapped around him and their hands intertwined. He felt the heat radiate off her skin, such a contrast to the deep blue ocean of her eyes. Fire and water. Delicate, yet a lioness. Soft, yet strong. So many contradictions were in Lydia. So many shades. He loved them all.

It wasn’t enough after a while. He blanketed his body on top of her, their hands still together as their bodies touched and caressed in the only the way his body ever touched and caressed hers. When at last his hand drifted down, fingering her clit she came, and as he felt the pulsations, the very pulsations that brought his own end, he buried his head in the crook of her neck, not wanting to come back to life. Not yet.

She stroked his hair, as he lay nestled there. “My lion.”

“You had to say that one more time, didn’t you?”

“But of course.”

He grinned. “Lydia. Love.”

“Call me that forever, and I’ll do whatever you say. Go anywhere you want.”

“Only if you want to,” he said.

“I’ll always want to. I promise.”

A promise. One he thought he would never have. How beautiful it was.

He must have fallen asleep, listening to the gentle sound of her beating heart.

**Author's Note:**

> part 2 coming soon!


End file.
